


Growing Velvet

by Oceanbreeze7



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Has Issues, Everyone Needs A Hug, Gen, Haunting, Nobody tells Alex ANYTHING, Oneshot, Spyfest 2019, Yassen Gregorovich Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 00:18:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19734559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oceanbreeze7/pseuds/Oceanbreeze7
Summary: When we kill someone, we kill a little piece of ourselves too.It's a shame nobody told Alex that something comes to fill up that space.Alex wished it would go away.For SpyFest (Week 2) 2019





	Growing Velvet

**Author's Note:**

> Wow it's been a long time since I managed a fast oneshot.  
> Hope you all like this creepy eerie story!

There’s that icy claw against his skin, digging sharp below his collarbone. It’s been there for days it feels like- slicing deeper and harder and yet he isn’t bleeding.

He knows what it is, but the first time he felt it Alex had been scared _shitless._ The first time he heard that rattling wheeze, like a windchime made of bones- he had screamed so hard Jack sprinted to his side from across the house.

“Alex!” She screamed, patting him down frantically to try and find his injury, “Alex! What’s wrong!”

How do you explain that haunting whisper, when nobody else can hear it either?

* * *

It was unspoken, traded without words with that same look in soldier’s eyes. Alex honestly didn’t know what it was, but sometimes it’s angry breathing was a tad louder. Sometimes its claws pressed a little too sharply and he could feel his skin _pop_ like a pimple. That ghost-warm wet rush of blood. An invisible trail down his stomach from where he oozed out and dripped.

“Sometimes…” other broken people said to Alex, that same horribly empty look in their eyes. “Sometimes it’s an accident. It doesn’t count then.”

“When does it count?” Alex asked, naive and stupid and _it was rattling so loud-._

“When you kill someone, it kills a little bit of you too,” they said, with that sympathetic look and nicotine stained fingers. They sighed with alcohol heavy breath, popping antidepressants that wouldn’t help.

_What happens to the bit that dies?_ Alex thought silently. _And what comes to fill it?_

* * *

“Alex, you alright?” Jack asked him, pausing from where she was stirring the soup for dinner. Alex sat on the couch, tracing the seams and stitch lines under fingers. Over and over, trying to reassure himself that the couch was real. It was physical, it was present and soft and had a tiny scratch on the side from where his laptop had scraped it years ago.

_No,_ Alex wanted to say. He wanted to scream, to open his mouth and wail but he knew if he did, that he would never stop. _I’m not okay._

“I’m fine.” He croaked back, eyes staying fixed to the television. He hadn’t heard what the news coverage was saying, he could read subtitles faster than he could listen anyways.

The rattling was so loud, caressing and whispering against his ears. Brushing through his hair, wet bone touching his earlobe in a glancing movement. He couldn’t hear the television, he could barely hear Jack.

“You sure?” Jack asked, leaving the kitchen to walk into the room. She was so close he could hear her; barely over the rattling wheezing that filled his ribcage. “We don’t have to eat tonight if you’re feeling ill.”

“I’m fine, Jack.” Alex tried to say. Smiling weakly, eyes not making it.

“I don’t like what they’re making you do.” Jack frowned, her eyebrows nearly touching. “You’ve gotten this...haunted look now.”

“Haunted, right.” Alex laughed weakly. “That you saying that I’m looking ghostly?’

Jack rolled her eyes, not amused.

The rattling monstrosity laughed. It sounded like nails on pavement.

* * *

Smithers saw something in him. In his face, in his eyes.

He passed over the newest gadget, a belt that could extend into over a hundred feet of industrial strength paracord- and his fingers stilled where they touched Alex.

“Alex,” Smithers said, a low cautious voice. He was worried, hurt, or perhaps he was resigned and sad. “I know, but you can’t let it haunt you.”

“How?” Alex asked, “it- it doesn’t go away it-.”

_I can’t sleep,_ Alex wanted to say, _It chokes me awake and I can’t stop screaming._

“I know.” Smithers whispered, looking so so sad, “I’m so sorry.”

* * *

It spoke to him in that lazy tongue that all beasts seemed to have in common. _Jump._

Alex looked down, eyeing the building and the concrete rim of the rooftop. Jumping wouldn’t kill him, perhaps he’d get a few shock fractures if he didn’t roll. Ian taught him to always roll, no matter what some demonic mumbling said.

“Yeah, no.” Alex said with a huff. “Shite idea.”

_Jump_ it seemed to say, no more urgent than before.

“How about _you,_ shut up?” Alex asked casually. It didn’t speak to him again.

* * *

“You don’t want to shoot me,” Alex said, hands up near his ears carefully. The loaded gun was a short distance- too far for him to kick. The wind wouldn’t throw off the hitman’s aim, but it was messing up Alex’s poorly gelled down hair. “Trust me, it really wouldn’t be good.”

“And why not?” The man sneered, looking completely ready to fire.

“Well,” Alex said, trying to think of possible reasons why it would be a bad idea. “I mean, your dry cleaner is going to be pissed at you.”

The hitman didn’t look impressed. He _was_ wearing black, so the stain wouldn’t be bad.

“Coffins don’t come in my size?” Alex tried again, “I spent a lot of money on a nose job and I don’t want to die because it was expensive?”

“That one was a decent excuse,” the hitman agreed, eyes flickering up behind Alex for the smallest of moments. “I may have believed you were innocent if not for _you.”_

“What.” Alex said smartly.

“Your face, kid.” The man smiled like a pissed off shark. “You’ve got them haunted eyes.”

A rattle in his ribcage, the scrape of bone on the rooftop. _Kill him,_ it seemed to say to Alex. 

Alex didn’t want to. He wondered if the man wanted to shoot Alex.

“I’m really bloody sorry about this,” the man said with an exaggerated sigh, “but you and me? There’s no hope for us anymore. Killed others and killed ourselves. Doing you a favour really.”

“Wait- wait _what?”_ Alex gaped in confusion, “what do you mean-.”

The man laughed, a loud hoarse noise. He scratched his face, short nails digging in hard just shy of his eye. “Oh _kid,_ you mean you don’t know? You kill someone else, you make a deal! You kill another and you kill yourself-.”

“I don’t understand.” Alex said, hands wavering in the air.

“Haven’t you ever wondered?” The man grinned savagely, “what fills that little hole in us after we do something _horrible?”_

Alex felt his ribcage rattle. 

He heard the whispering voice say: _me._

* * *

Alex wanted to claim that it was a coincidence, that his head throbbed something sour. 

The man missed, because Alex tackled him. Nobody ever tackles someone with a gun- except Alex did. Two shots fired, both missed. They tussled, they fought and screamed and their voices echoed off something that wasn’t there.

Alex kicked him, breaking a kneecap based on luck and bad angle. He shoved one smaller shoulder, and gravity did the rest.

He wondered if he was hallucinating when he heard the scream, like a bird of prey shrieking out in terror. 

He must have imagined it.

The man’s head split open on pavement and birds knew how to fly.

* * *

“Smithers?” Alex asked quietly, sitting still on a stool in the corner. “Have you ever seen someone die?”

Smithers stilled in his actions. His fingers slowing as his heart sped up.

“Yes,” Smithers confessed quietly. “It was an accident, not by my hand. I’ve... _heard_ about it, what it does to you. I don’t think I could have the heart for it- to…”

Smithers cleared his throat quietly, fingers twitching to a rhythm of their own. “I don’t think I have much stomach for killing, eh?”

Alex looked at his hands, head tilting eerily to the side. “I don’t think I do either.”

“Oh, oh my poor child.”

“I- I don’t like it.” Alex confessed, voice quiet and cracking. His knuckles bent and popped, loud snapping noises like cracking wishbones. “I can’t sleep anymore.”

“I’m so sorry.” Smithers repeated.

“I keep hearing it.” Alex said brokenly. “Everyday.”

“I’m so sorry.” he said, because Smithers didn’t know what else to say.

* * *

Sometimes when Alex looked in the mirror, he didn’t see himself.

He’d see a large black ominous thing, towering tall and higher still. Big antlers curving up from its brow, like the northern Red Deer that frequented Scotland. 

From its temple it had more bent shapes, spiraling ram horn mixed with kudu. A silhouette like broken eagle feathers- and claws longer than Alex’s hand.

Sometimes when Alex looked in the mirror, he would see a distorted monstrous creature, and hear its rattling wheezing. A guardian angel, paying him homage for all his sins.

Alex would blink same eyes and touch his cold skin; haunted all the same.

He would grab the toothpaste, brush his teeth, and pretend nothing was ever wrong.

* * *

“I don’t want to go to the pub on Larkston’s street.” Alex told Jack when she suggested it. Something tense in his posture- in his eyes. “I...I don’t like the deer head on the wall.”

“The deer head?” Jack repeated, startled. “I- oh, _oh._ Is it the…the _hunting?”_

Alex looked at her with those dull haunted eyes. He smiled _wrong-wrong-wrong-_ and shrugged one shoulder silently.

“Yeah, something like that.” Alex said. Jack knew he was lying.

* * *

On the rooftop of the school, Tom watched Alex swing his legs.

He _knew_ Alex wouldn’t jump. Alex was one bloody tough bloke- he wouldn’t do that. Everything in his gut told him he wouldn’t, that Alex would just laugh it off and scramble to finish his homework and manage to ace the test anyways. Being on the roof was odd- but Alex was all for breaking rules now wasn’t he.

“You okay, mate?” Tom asked carefully, taking a seat next to him. He had to slip through the roof access stairwell- the lock strangely broken. “Been pretty quiet.”

“Mm.” Alex said, staring at nothing in particular. “Just...thinking.”

“Think too much you’ll hurt yourself.” Tom teased gently.

“Maybe,” Alex agreed simply. “I’m pretty lucky I hear.”

* * *

“Are you ever going to leave me?” Alex whispered to his mirror.

_No._ It said back, wheezing out like trembling tree limbs. _You made a deal._

“I didn’t agree to it.” Alex said, “I didn’t know that there _was_ a deal. I didn’t mean to-.”

_Few mean to._

“I want you gone.” Alex whispered, wanting to touch his face but terrified at what he might feel. “I want you out of me.”

_You killed a bit of yourself,_ it said to him, goat horns small amidst ibex and bull- _you invited me inside._

* * *

“There’s something in me.” Alex said, staring coldly and brokenly across the desk. “You didn’t say- you didn’t say that this would _happen.”_

Jones didn’t look surprised. She didn't look sad, or upset. “If I told you, would you have ever agreed?”

“I didn’t agree in the _first place!”_ Alex _screamed,_ taking one step forward. A child throwing a temper tantrum, a traumatized soldier who had blood on his hands.

A click, an armed guard lifted a weapon and pointed it in warning. Alex froze, looking horrified with himself.

“I advise you to control yourself.” Jones said.

“I will never forgive you,” Alex promised.

* * *

“What’s your name?” Alex asked the night. “Besides you know, stealing mine.”

He could feel it, long knobbly knuckles squeezing his leg until he nearly moaned in pain. It’s claws drawing blood, Alex’s throat collapsed until he gurgled for air.

It loomed over him, breathing rot and decay from its jawless maw and empty eye sockets. Alex could feel its skin, that slimy wet texture like molding whale skin.

_I don’t have a name,_ it said to him, amused and disgusting. _You let me in._

“Are you all like this?” Alex asked, staring up sightless. “Haunting us all?”

_Only those who deserve it._ It promised him, amused.

“Why?” Alex asked the darkness.

_I want to return,_ it said. _I want you to die._

* * *

There was a report on the news, the national statistics for suicide and suicide related deaths from former military.

Alex stared at the television, cold and numb.

Jack changed channels to Latino music- no matter how loudly it couldn’t drown out the _thing’s_ horrible laughing.

* * *

Alex met Yassen Gregorovich once in his life, and waved as he flew away.

Alex met Yassen Gregorovich a few other times, but never like this.

The man was old- not so old that Alex imagined him Ian’s age (if he were still alive). Younger, but a stern controlled presence that somehow defied normal aging. His hair had been dyed so many times Alex couldn’t know if it would be grey. His eyes were cold, empty and predatory.

“Oh,” Alex said, feeling rancid breathing on his throat. “You’re like me.”

Yassen stared at him, calculating. His mouth twitched in the slightest expression of disapproval- monumental for the man. MI6 would have celebrated for cracking such a rock.

“No.” Yassen Gregorovich said, and his word had weight behind it. Enough that Alex felt his chest grow heavy, like large clawed talons squeezing his entrails. “I am not.”

“Why?” Alex said, because he couldn’t imagine it. He couldn’t fathom it- surviving with such a- such a _a-_

_So young,_ his monster said amused. _Far too young._

“I chose this.” Yassen said. “I made a deal, and I did not die.”

_He lived,_ Alex heard in his lungs, _he tried to die and did not._

“You cut away yourself.” Alex whispered, “how do you get it to _stop hurting?”_

Yassen tilted his head ever so slightly, intrigued.

_He didn’t kill a bit,_ Alex heard, _he survived._

“I can show you,” Yassen said. Not an offer, but not a cruel reprimand either. “It does not get easier. But you will live.”

_I don’t want you to._

“Okay.” Alex agreed.

* * *

““There’s one secret everyone takes to the grave.” Yassen said stiffly. “The haunting. You see it in their eyes, the way they wilt. They turn weak, and then they die.”

Alex looked in the mirror- at that demonic thing. The perversion, the rot. He felt blood on his hands, heard the screaming and gunshots and his skin itched from gore. It thrashed, shrieking otherworldly as it tried to shatter the glass- tried to spear him on its antlers and lift him high on its rack. Place him on _its_ mantel, grin as Alex died broken and slow.

“I don’t feel okay.” Alex confessed quietly. “It...It’s horrible.”

“You cannot kill it.” Yassen said flatly. “But you can tame it.”

_No!_ It screamed in rage. _Never! You will never sleep! You will never be happy! I will make you bleed!_

“It takes from you things,” Yassen said untiringly. “You do not need them. Sleep, dreams. Feelings, happiness. It will tempt you with memories, thoughts. Speak to you.”

_Jump off the roof! Stab yourself! Die! Die already!_

“Don’t listen to it?” Alex asked. 

“Never listen to it.”

“I can do that.” Alex said, feeling as if he would never be happy again. It was alright, he didn’t need that. He didn’t need anything anymore. He didn’t remember what life was like before.

“Do not let your monsters win, little Alex.” Yassen said; and Alex knew he would never die.


End file.
